


The Yule Dragon

by Alex_Quine



Series: Cold Pressing AU [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M, Post Mpreg, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Quine/pseuds/Alex_Quine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn and Boromir become actors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Yule Dragon

It had been Gimli’s idea, and at first it sounded like an uncommonly good one and since the dwarf seldom volunteered anything other than willing hands and his rich belly laugh to the annual event, they had got well forward with preparations before, as Boromir pointed out, really thinking the thing through.

Which was why Legolas and Gimli were just now collecting from the floor, the fragments of some delicate ornaments, which had rested on a mantelpiece in Arwen’s apartment…and the Queen was stood, tapping her velvet-clad foot, before a rather fat dragon…a sheepish-looking fat dragon, which hadn’t quite mastered the use of its tail and wings. These unfolded to an impressive spread of stiffened linen and thousands of sequins, sewn on by her ladies, who even now were cowering in the doorway, straightening headdresses and patting down dishevelled hair.

“Some of those pieces came from Grandmother,” announced Arwen, in tones that made it plain that the knowledge of their demise was even now somehow winging its way to the Grey Havens. 

“Sorry, my dear,” came muffled from the dragon’s nether regions, whilst its head sank and a clawed foot, drew lines side to side on the floor. “Sorry, ma’am,” the shape of the drooping head, with its narrow snout and flaring brass nostrils, giving Boromir’s voice a deep booming quality as though he was speaking through an old-fashioned hearing trumpet…

“Yes…well…oh, for goodness sake, go away and practice…somewhere empty,” she huffed at them and went to shoo them out of the door, whereupon the dragon’s rear end bounced up rather precipitously and the great tail swept across the floor, collecting a startled lapdog and several cushions on the way.

Gimli handed Arwen the dog with a deprecating smile and he and Legolas bundled the mythical beast with some difficulty through the arched doorway and out into the hallway, where the front half stopped abruptly and the back concertina’d into it with a ‘Whumph’.

“Get us out of this!” Boromir’s tone was just the commanding side of exasperated and Legolas hurried to help lift the frame of the dragon’s head from his shoulders, whilst Gimli unfastened its mid-section to let Aragorn emerge into the daylight, stretching out his back and grinning broadly. Although stripped to linen drawers, both men were red-faced and running with sweat.

“How do we move?” Boromir was panting. “I can’t see where I’m going.”  
“And I keep bumping into him…we need to keep the length on the dragon’s back.”

Legolas thought for a moment. “We may have to count out the steps in the great hall…learn it…like a dance.” The men looked glum and hot. “Why don’t we go up to the long gallery and just work on going forwards, and Gimli,” Legolas nudged the dwarf, “will go and find some cool water.”  
“For drinking or for pouring over them?” whispered Gimli.  
“Either…both.”

Up in the gallery, they were strapped back into the heavy costume and worked on matching their steps, so that an open-mouthed guard, would later come upon the elf jogging backwards along the passageway, intoning “left…left…left-right-left…” followed by a sizable dragon, with a jaunty sway to its tail. At the end of the day, they were peeled out of the frame, dripping and smelling, according to the dwarf, fairly ripe; however, they were clearly more confident in their movement and a few days later, felt ready to begin to work with Arin and with little Eldarion, who needed to become used to the sight of the great worm.

Surprisingly, once the toddler had heard his father’s voice coming from out of the creature’s stomach, he seemed to lose all fear of it and had a tendency to giggle when it roared. Arin was more nervous in his role of dragon-slayer and could not settle until Boromir had shown him the mithril mail lining that would stop any arrow. He wanted very much to please his Adar, and Legolas who took endless trouble with his archery.

There had been one difficult rehearsal, when Rullo had first latched on to the dragon’s tail and worried at it, until he was dragged off and then, when it had opened its great wings and roared at Arin, Rullo had launched himself at its throat, taking Boromir over backwards on top of Aragorn. It was only when Boromir called him to order, that Rullo had loosed his grip and sat up on Boromir’s chest, tail thumping happily somewhere around his groin. 

There hadn’t been much damage done, beyond a few scales knocked off, but the inside of the dragon was becoming unpleasantly greasy and smelly, so that it had to live in an empty stable when not in use. Gandalf, who remembered worms, said this ‘added to the realism’ and their indignation was only quelled when he presented them with some little fire squirts to fit into its metal nostrils. Each gave no more than a couple of blasts of flame when the cords were pulled, but the colours were bright and they were small enough that Boromir could manage them from inside the skin, if Aragorn took over the voice for those moments.

It was when they started to put the whole thing together that the men experienced the level of effort that a full performance would entail. Aragorn was bent over, hands stretched forward and hooked into the waistband of Boromir’s harness, whilst Boromir had the full weight of the headpiece on his shoulders and the wing mechanism jammed into his ribs. The first run-through of the little tale had left them winded and hoarse. They lay side-by-side on the floor, wondering aloud at how they had managed to be persuaded into this.

“You know the boys are working very hard on their roles,” said Gandalf gently. Aragorn groaned and Boromir closed his eyes, breathing deeply as though counting to ten, before he rolled his head sideways, smiled at his King and wordlessly they started to help eachother back into the dripping costume.

“In the right light it’s really very effective,” said Gandalf, stroking the jewelled chest of the worm, as Boromir refolded his wings a couple of times. “And of course it’s so important that you look just right…”  
“Oh don’t think you’re going to get away so easily,” Aragorn’s muffled voice held a note of satisfaction.

Before Gandalf could ask what he meant, Gimli and Legolas bustled in laden with packages and Gimli asked the startled wizard whether he’d given any thought to his costume?  
“I thought I’d wear what I’m wearing,” Gandalf sounded bewildered. “I’ve always found these robes – appropriate.”  
“Ah, but do they say ‘wizard’?”  
“This is what wizards wear,” said Gandalf with dignity.  
“That is as maybe,” answered Gimli firmly, “but in festive terms they could do with a little pepping-up.” He shook out a set of dark blue silks with silver stars and moons embroidered over them, and Legolas produced the matching pointed hat from a large box. There was silence for a moment.  
“I’m only glad Radagast won’t ever see this,” said Gandalf faintly.

The evening of the Children’s Yule day saw all the children of the household and the guests gathered in the corridor outside the Great Hall. Gandalf was keeping them entertained with flocks of fire finches that sang as they swooped over their heads.

Meanwhile, their parents and the other grown-ups crowded the balcony of the Great Hall, jostling the musicians to peer down into the gloom. At the far end of the hall in front of the fireplace a large mound could be seen, that glinted dully and from which came what sounded like a rumbling snore. At Faramir’s side Rullo growled low in his chest and Faramir took a stronger grip on his collar.

A single flute player began a low tune and the audience, craning over the balcony railings, saw the great doors open and Gandalf enter, his staff lit, leading the procession of children. Once into the room he halted them, gathered them around him and spoke, low enough that his words sounded private, but loudly enough that all could hear.

“This festive tide a great worm has wakened, Smaug the Magnificent is returned to steal the King’s treasure and your gifts too,” and he turned, pointed his staff and the fire in the grate sprang to life. There was a gasp and a scattered round of applause from above as the flickering light revealed a dragon stretched out on a great heap of golden vessels, coins and jewels. Its eyes were closed, but a puff of smoke issued from its nostrils from time-to-time and the long tail curled around the edge of the mound. Dotted about at the margins of the treasure hoard were little parcels, tied with golden ribbons that snaked out half the length of the hall towards them.

“Do you want to reach your presents?” The children nodded enthusiastically. “Dragons,” said Gandalf gravely, “have surprisingly weak eyesight. They follow movement well, but if you are still, they can’t really see you. So you must creep forward and if Smaug opens his eyes, you must hold very still until he sleeps again. If he sees you he will roar and then come back to me, to the circle of my staff and we can start again. When you reach a ribbon you can start to pull the parcel to you…and as soon as you can pick up your parcel you can bring it back here. And I have my apprentices here to help you.” He waved forward a tall, willowy figure and a short, squat figure in matching blue cloaks, who took the hands of the littlest ones.

The musicians struck up a creeping tune and the game began. The children would tiptoe forward, amidst giggles and ‘shushing’ until Smaug stirred and lifted his head and then they froze. Once he pushed himself up on his front legs, peered around and stretched out a wing to its full length, where it almost swept the back of an adventurous small boy, pressed flat on the floor, crawling towards his prize. Often Smaug’s head would come up sharply, and a growling, rumbling voice say “I smell a thief!” sending children scurrying back to Gandalf’s side. The first to collect their parcels got a cheer from the gallery and then quickly other children reached the ends of the ribbons and pulled their gifts to them and scurried back down the length of the chamber.

As the children chattered and exclaimed over the packages, collected by parents or nursemaids to join the audience in the gallery, Smaug stretched out and crawled down from his perch, his great tail, sweeping goblets and jewelled daggers, caskets and coins in his wake, until he stalked the length of the now deserted hall. Then he froze and slowly raised his head towards the watchers in the gallery, where the music and chatter stilled and suddenly he swept out both great wings, bellowed and jets of fire shot out of his nostrils. There was a gasp and one or two anxious infant voices seeking reassurance, and then he turned and sauntered back to his lair and settled down on his hoard again.

This time a crumhorn picked up a jolly, little tune and from out the shadows at the end of the hall a small figure, carrying a lantern, stomped. His outsized, hairy feet made stomping rather a necessity and as he came further into the firelight, the audience could see the trim form and hobbit clothes of a figure from legend, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. 

Smaug stirred on his golden bed and ‘Bilbo’ ducked under his dark cloak. Eldarion was working hard at remembering what came next, but when the rumbling growl of his father’s voice stopped, he popped his head out from under the cloak. He could see the double-handled cup he wanted not too far away and scrambled towards it, but just as he had his hand on it, Smaug stirred and rested one wing tip on Bilbo’s feet. 

Bilbo tried to lift it off, but it was too heavy, he tugged and heaved, but to no avail, so he started to tickle Smaug, who did not waken, but wriggled and chuckled and eventually rolled over on his back, all four feet waving in the air and Bilbo picked up the cup. Then he paused and opened the shutter of his lantern to lean in and light up the patch on Smaug’s breast where his jewelled skin was bare.

Carefully, he closed the shutter of his lantern, grasped his cup and clambered off the pile of treasure to great applause, that turned to gasps as Smaug came awake with a mighty roar, rolling over to stand a-top his treasure, tail lashing from side to side and peering left and right. 

Bilbo had skipped behind a pillar and stayed there as the infuriated worm plunged off the hoard to find the thief. He rushed back and forth, wings beating, almost screaming in frustration. When he could see no movement in the hall, Smaug’s gaze swept up to the gallery and he demanded to know who had taken his gold? There was silence. Once again he snarled, who had taken the cup? Silence. As he opened his mouth to curse them, Eomer started hissing him behind his glove and soon the whole gallery was hurling hisses and insults, until Smaug blew a burst of green flame into the air and they quietened down. 

In the body of the hall the wizard’s apprentices were pulling forward low trucks covered in black gauze.

“This is treachery,” boomed Smaug. “Too long I have left the Men of Lake Town to breed like rats and now they would dare to disturb my rest, to steal from me! Well they shall know the wrath of Smaug the Terrible!” and he flapped his wings, uttering maniacal laughter.

The apprentices pulled the gauzes away and there was Lake Town laid out in miniature, with tiny lights twinkling in the windows of the houses and a dark lake of blue silk pouring over the edge of the trucks to spread across the floor.

As the audience clapped, Smaug swept around the hall, beating his wings, roaring. Then he wheeled at the corner of the hall and, rushing forward, threw a jet of flame that set one corner of the little town alight. As the wooden structure caught and flame rushed along the rows of tiny houses, Bilbo stepped out from behind his pillar and called “Bard! Bard of Dale, look to the dragon’s breast!”

At this, through the main doors ran Arin, his bow raised and as Smaug roared, his wings outstretched, he took careful aim and fired off an arrow that pierced the dragon’s padded breast. Smaug shrieked hoarsely, then began to turn and turn slowly sinking into the lake with a great hissing sound, where Bard and Bilbo picked up the billowing blue silk and covered him over.

Up in the gallery, the musicians ended in a great flourish of trumpets and clashing cymbals and the audience clapped and cheered. Arin took Eldarion’s hand and they came forward for a bow. Rullo started barking and barking and slipped his collar. Faramir made a grab for him, but it was too late.

Under their blue silk shroud, encased in the dragonskin, the men were gasping for breath, suddenly unable to move. Aragorn had his cheek laid on Boromir’s sweaty hip. They could hear the tumult around them coming nearer and each man smiled to himself, enjoying the sounds of a happy audience. Boromir groaned softly and stretched fingers down to stroke Aragorn’s sopping hair. 

“Warm bath, chilled wine, you, me, locked doors,” gasped the King.  
“Aargh,” croaked Boromir and then “Oouf!” as Rullo landed both front feet on his midriff, bouncing on the blue mound and barking.

“Great fun!” boomed Eomer, whisking the watery silk from over them, “and this is a fine dog Arin’s got himself.” His nose wrinkled as he caught their full scent. “Umm, I think Gimli’s got some spare water,” he gestured towards the dwarf putting out the last of the fire. Legolas helped them to unlace the costume, and they emerged into the torchlight. The Hall had almost emptied. Boromir scrambled wearily to his feet and held out a hand to Aragorn.

“Next year…” he said.  
“Next year,” put in Aragorn, “we’re having proper minstrels.”  
“Adar?” Arin’s voice was soft behind them.  
Boromir whirled around and dropped to his knees, scooping his boy into his arms, “Oh you were splendid, lad…just grand…did you like it?”  
The child thought for a moment, “I was scared waiting outside the door, but I liked it when they clapped.” He gestured to Eldarion, climbing onto Aragorn’s knee, “He’s much braver than me.”  
“Nay lad, he’s not old enough to know he can be fearful. It is brave to know fear and still to go on.” 

Arin seemed to think this over for a moment then he smiled at his father and brought something from behind his back.  
“The Queen said you deserved one of these,” and he gave Boromir one of the little ribbon-wrapped presents, before catching Eldarion by the hand and wandering off with him.  
Aragorn was pulling apart the trailing ribbon bows to his parcel and unfolding the cloth wrapping his gift. He gurgled with laughter and leant over to kiss Boromir lightly on the lips.  
“What is it?”  
“It’s soap, my love.”  
“Perhaps we could do something for next year…”  
“I have a suggestion…how about Shelob?”  
“Shelob?”  
“Shelob…we probably should start to rehearse soon…and we have all this ribbon…”

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been edited from its first posting at alex-quine.livejournal.com


End file.
